When I speak I create Even without a magic wand When I think I create And my environment Thinks like I think Magic is an illusion But power is real And it is not in your hands But in your mouth One Word changed my life Starting with my mind Which is a powerful biological machine That can either instruct Or self-destruct If overloaded with wrong instructions. A man utters Out of the abundance of the heart And as he imagines so is he Man is a thought And thoughts are spirits They work like cells Unobserved yet effective Possess your mind And inculcate your heart If you don’t They will When they entertain your mind with their demonic fantasies…
Words are powerful. Silence is golden, and speaking is silver.
Welcome to the never Here sit thoughts long abandoned as they dance in their own weight They sing songs of regret as they call to their thinkers but the thinkers have long since passed them by They are thoughts never to be thought again Still they call to their creators but no hope is allowed to them Not here - not in the never.
Now here we are, what have we become? Our world is not like it use to be... It's Very messy now, and people not caring. What happen here? Our world needs our help! What happen to this Culture? We were suppose to be the dreamers And the creators, but wait!! It's not too late. If* we start now, we could still save our world and maybe the Next generation can do better; *learn from our mistakes. Everyone: We're all in this together!!
My throat blows out fire. You can't stop this sun burning in my lungs. There's a light at the end of the tunnel. A dragon lurking through the shadows. Enter the unknown and i will funnel magma into your cold lifeless body. OH NO! my little fireflies! they want to capture you in a bottle! But the blood of the dragon in you melts the glass that held you. We have become the mythical creatures they thought only existed in their imagination. And now the power we've withheld for so long has got them running. Running into the silent caves, waiting to be saved. They fear what they not know. I will not apologize for spreading my wildfire and you shouldn't either.
I wonder if the Greats Ever knew each other in their time I know the Painters knew one another I imagine the conversations they had What gossip crept through the grapevine? "Did you know that Van Gogh fellow cut off his ear for his mistress?" "What a treacherous man" "Poor soul" "And that Monet's pictures always look so fuzzy" "What an odd concept, indeed." Would Dickinson and Poe be acquaintances or great friends? Or Mr. Robert Frost and the great John Keats Would e.e cummings be the laughing stock of the crowd or the hipster everyone else secretly admires? Painters and Poets, creators alike Would the two groups clash or join in joyful merrymaking? Creators not destroyers Artists and Masters of their work Both disturbed And slightly insane I think They would have gotten along great.
The so-called way of selfishness is an obtrusive path at least that is a part of the thought process but is it entirely true?
I provoke the notion of altruism and helping at every hand because one needs to feel a sense of self purpose otherwise you swallow in the depth of misery.
I am not claiming selfishness is an entire path of grace but it is not a callous path either as it is a part of everyone’s soul.
The passionate and the creators need to have it or they will never get a single thing done as most of the Primer Movers have had this so-called way.
Pure altruism is nearly impossible and improbable especially in this culture where everything moves so fast instead of taking it slower.
One needs to help others in petty ways mostly as that is all one can do usually because of how hard it is to truly push change.
The best way that I have seen to push these notions is through words and other forms of art and to convince others of challenging their ways to push them into new and untaken paths they feared to take.